Silk and Steel
by Happiness's Deceit
Summary: Warning for gore. Yakuza!AU In the milliseconds between blinks, Suzaku dreams of the taste of sweet sake and a body tucked against him in a warm bed. The taste is light on his tongue, the alcohol heavy in his mouth, and the dream shatters as Suzaku runs his katana through the man who charged at him.


**Warning: Blood, gore, descriptive violence and sex. Please read at your discretion.**

Kinkmeme Fill for: I want deadly, efficient and graceful Suzaku as a yakuza, packed with tattoos and a katana, decimating a rival gang in some bloody showdown and accidentally or not saving schoolboy!Lelouch in distress, who got caught up in the middle of it Suzaku, most probably, getting some porn as a reward for the noble deed:PTorn clothes, rushed sex, adrenaline... "When I'll see you again?" "Never."

* * *

In the milliseconds between blinks, Suzaku dreams of the taste of sweet sake and a body tucked against him in a warm bed.

The taste is light on his tongue, the alcohol heavy in his mouth, and the dream shatters as Suzaku runs his katana through the eye socket of the man who charged at him. He remembers buying the blade on recommendation from a father's friend, the smith a strange foreigner who had talent for crafting Japanese blades; he thinks that the price was well-deserved when his sword exits out of the back of the man's skull with the sound of a breath. Suzaku stares into the darkness of the alley, stares at the men who came along with this one, and watches them run.

He slides his sword out of the man's face, wiping the blood on a white cloth and resheathing the blade. After a moment, he uses his foot to push aside the heavy cloth of the man's jacket, and peers at the tattoo displayed prominently on his chest. A wolf snarls at him from its place on the man's collarbone. Absentmindedly, Suzaku lets his own hand drift to his heart, where he knows his fire bird unfurls from a long sleep. His gaze returns to the chest of the dead man. The style is unfamiliar, but the wolf is not; this man was Kozuki's.

Suzaku sighs, tucking his dress shirt back into his pants, and slinging his sword over his back. He's late, and his father will not be pleased. It would be a simple matter to skip the clan meeting, Suzaku thinks easily, even as his feet carry him toward the Kururugi home. The weight of his sword was comfortable against his back.

The smell of blood makes Suzaku's nose itch. His father would need to hear about the attack, and the repercussions of it would need to be calculated. The Kozuki clan was well-known for taking in strays; men who needed little more than a twisted leader to follow before rushing to violence. It was odd, however, because Suzaku had met the Kozuki leader, a man by the name of Naoto. Naoto was level-headed; his assessment of risk was fairly accurate and he inspired men, gathering them to work towards honor. The attack today was entirely out of place for Naoto's normal hand.

It could be dismissed that Suzaku hadn't recognized the man who had attacked him. The man would have had to have been a new recruit then, someone who joined the yakuza because of foolish ideas of violence rather than the trained sharpness of honor that Naoto cultivated. What could not be dismissed was one of the men who had come with the assailant- a man with dark skin and dark blue hair. Suzaku knows that face- but from where?

He reaches the entrance to the Kururugi home, and the doors slide open for him.

"They've already begun the meeting," he is greeted.

"I figured as much," Suzaku says, nodding to one of the few women he would trust with his blade. "I ran into a delay."

Nagisa Chiba is a woman who had an touch with blades that Suzaku envied since he was a child. Once, an older member of the clan told him that she looked at him affectionately, like a mother to her child; and that was when you could tell that Nagisa was a woman. Now, she looks at him carefully, her face set in a blank expression. "It would be best that you go in, now. There is something that you need to hear." She swallows, and a shiver races down Suzaku's back. "They are in the usual room."

Suzaku nods, and his footsteps are heavier as he makes his way to the meeting room. Usually, the meeting consists of a select few- his father, Suzaku himself, Toudou, and Asahina. When he opens the door, there are more than three men gathered around the table. Suzaku carefully exhales, removing his shoes and blade, and bows. His father's gaze is heavy on his head.

"I apologize for my tardiness." Suzaku says. "I have news to report."

"Suzaku," his father's voice rumbles through the floor. "Come to the table."

Suzaku slips to his place on his father's right, watching the other men shift to accommodate him. Toudou is here, as is Asahina- but Master Kirihara is here, and also Ohgi of the Kozuki clan. When they have settled, Suzaku looks to his father.

Genbu Kururugi is a man with a stern face, his lips pulled into a displeased frown and thick eyebrows slanted in his displeasure. His strength of the sword was never very great, but his ability to lead the clan was the key reason why he took position of clan head. Genbu nods to Ohgi, and waits.

Suzaku watches the man, cataloguing. Ohgi's face is pale, eyes irritated and the pull of his forehead designates great stress. His posture is too absurd to consider rude, because it is too polite, and his suit is pressed neatly.

Ohgi swallows, the noise loud in the meeting room, and says, "Naoto Kozuki has passed."

Suzaku remembers the wolf, its eyes glimmering on stained skin, ready to pounce and become wild once more. He watches thoughts pull across his father's mind, like silk over a blade, and in his place says, "My condolences for your loss."

Ohgi's eyes snap up to meet his own, and the older man begins to shake. Suzaku watches as the man shudders into calmness, like ripples hiding beneath the water.

Master Kirihara makes a noise in the back of his throat, and Suzaku turns his attention to the older man. Master Kirihara is a man of business- one who carefully regulates the power of the clans in Japan. "Return," Master Kirihara says, "return to your clan house and take control."

"It's in control right now," Ohgi says at nearly a whisper. "The clan is under lockdown."

Master Kirihara clucks, and Suzaku quickly says, "It is not, Ohgi."

All the men in the room turn to him, and weight of their gazes makes Suzaku want to curl into himself. Instead he says, "Your men run wild, striking." He thinks to the man with dark blue hair, and the name comes. Urabe. Urabe, one of the craftier but stronger men under Naoto. The reason why they would attack the heir of another clan. He chooses his words carefully. "They do not know who to blame for their leader's death, and so they jump at anyone, like rabid beasts."

Genbu Kururugi says, "You were attacked?" but Suzaku hears, "You killed your assailant?"

Suzaku says yes, to both questions.

Ohgi bows deeply and Genbu dismisses him. Master Kirihara looks at him again, re-evaluating. Suzaku looks to his teacher instead, watches Toudou slide the new information into his mind and calculate. Asahina beside him begins to write, no doubt contacts to check and shifts to reassign.

"Suzaku," Genbu says. "You are certain the man was of the Kozuki clan?" His voice is bland, as though asking about the weather, but Suzaku knows what the worth of his answer is. It is enough to start a war, if they are not careful.

"Yes," Suzaku says. "He was accompanied by Urabe of the Kozuki clan."

Genbu hums, a low sound vibrating from his throat. "Leave, Suzaku."

Suzaku bows.

* * *

Suzaku wipes his sword carefully, removing any blood that would cause the expensive metal to rust. He slips the blade in its sheathe, breathing out. He shares brotherhood with the men here, but there is one difference that Genbu Kururugi does not let him forget: no matter what his role is now, he is the son of the _oyabun_, and he will inherit the clan. Toudou and Asahina will likely remain the _wakagashira_ and_ saiko-komon_ respectively, the manager of the gangs in the region and the senior advisor.

There is a difference in _blood_ between them that sake cannot forge, despite the way the alcohol races through the blood like a virus, ravaging the links of the past.

There is a difference, and Suzaku wishes that it were plain to see on his skin, so that no one would whisper of it behind his back. Suzaku wishes that he could wear violence and strength so easily on his skin, marked in the same way that his phoenix screams from his breast. He wishes that his sword skill was greater, so that clan members would not whisper that he got his position of _shateigashira_, local boss, through nepotism.

Suzaku draws his blade quickly, letting it sing as he slices through the air. He steps around the slice, drawing the sword to his body and thrusting it forward and twisting. The blade moves easily in his hands, parting the air like a bird's wings. He breathes deeply, listening, and sheathes his sword.

Clapping disrupts his thoughts, and Suzaku turns to meet the eyes of Asahina. The older man smiles at him. "Good as always, Suzaku." He slings an arm around the heir. "Your swing is really right-dominant, so be careful of your blind spots, yeah?"

"Yes," Suzaku says. He smiles back. "Done with the meeting?"

"Yeah, but you know as well as I do that I can't tell you anything," Asahina says, "so don't even try getting it out of me." He crosses his legs at the ankles, leaning back against one of the pillars on the porch. "Anyway, did you still want to learn more about clan finances?"

Suzaku nods.

"Sheesh, such an overachiever here." Asahina sighs, exaggerating. "All right, Tuesday then. Meet me at the cafe off of the bakery street. The usual place." He gets up from his position. "Works?"

"Yeah," Suzaku responds.

"Great!" Asahina says. "Keep working hard, but don't get yourself killed, okay? It'll all work out for the good of the clan, you'll see. It always does." He whistles as he leaves, and the shrill sound echoes in the large halls of the clan building.

It will work out for the clan, Suzaku mouths, and kills the twinge that creeps up his rib cage.

It doesn't matter that Suzaku feels free when wielding his sword. It doesn't matter that he must be ready to take over the clan from his father at the drop of a pin. It doesn't matter that that Suzaku wants to have something tangible here, to gain respect and to fall in love and to be like the seventeen-year-old he is.

What matters is family.

And nothing else.

* * *

Of all the hostess clubs in his area, the Ashford is undeniably Suzaku's favorite. It doesn't have to do with the location or the clientele, but the sheer delight of the women who work there. Asahina jokes that the reason he likes the club is because he is at_ that age,_ but Suzaku has never had a lack of women (or men, for that matter) to enter his bed. It isn't that Suzaku has no offers; it's just that Suzaku doesn't want anyone near his blade.

A man's blade is something like his soul, Toudou told him once. If one's conscience is clear, the sword will cut through any enemy, any moment and any lies. But a muddied heart is much like lingering water on the metal, working to make it brittle and rusted. Suzaku's blade is a gift; a precursor to the clan. He doesn't care for anyone long enough to lose sight of it.

No, the reason why Suzaku adores the Ashford so much is because the matron of the locale is Milly Ashford, and the rest of her girls adore her, too. Suzaku steps into the Ashford, letting the door chime prettily behind him, and Milly hugs him with her usual exuberance.

"How are you today, Suzaku?" The blonde woman asks. Her hair is up today, tendrils curling to hit her cheeks. She leads him to a booth in the back, one with tinted windows, and smiles at him. On the way, Suzaku scans the room for faces; at this time of day, though, it's only tired business men, and no one is confident enough to be holding a gun, so he follows her without a word.

"Like usual," Suzaku says, once they settle into the usual booth. "Watch out for Kozuki's for now, but they shouldn't cause you any trouble." He removes the sword from his back, resting it against his thigh along the chair. His left hand loosely drapes across the top of the sheath, holding and waiting. "How is Shirley doing?"

Milly barks a laugh. "That girl is still a handful. She slapped a customer yesterday, you know?" She twirls a long-stemmed glass, clinking it against another before setting it down. "Sometimes I feel like I'm too old for this place."

"You're young," Suzaku says. He doesn't know how to make her believe it, but on the surface it is simple enough to see: Milly's skin is clear and without wrinkles, her hair healthy and curling into playful ringlets, her figure fit and well-proportioned. Milly is young, he thinks, and then he thinks that she is old. Her eyes are old, tired from working and losing dreams to drunken men and paid company.

"Oh, Suzaku," Milly sighs, patting his cheek. "I'm really not."

"You are," Suzaku says, as if approving her will bring her to age, like the man who sold his soul to the devil for a hundred years and then crumpled to dust when the magic sustaining him wore off. The door jangles open before he can say more, and his left hand grips the sheath of his blade more comfortably. Suzaku moves his gaze to the door; Milly has known for a long time to give him the seat facing the entrance.

It's a boy. He's dark haired, clad in casual clothes, with long limbs and eyes that look black in the low light of the club. He has a box under his arm, and Suzaku thinks that it isn't a big deal before Shirley greets him cheerfully. He returns her greeting, and settles into an empty booth.

Suzaku glances at Milly, and she looks away.

Suzaku says, "Age."

"He's seventeen." Milly says. She still hasn't met his eyes, Suzaku is alarmed to see. Her fists are clenched in the silky green fabric of her dress.

"Not legal, Milly." Suzaku says, mouth tight. "He isn't supposed to be here."

"He doesn't work!" Milly says. "He plays chess, that's all. Just during the early afternoons. He's out of here before the big clients come in." Her eyes keep drifting to the side, and Suzaku fingers his blade that is leaning against his leg.

"You know the rules, Milly," Suzaku says. "He's not to be here." In the corner of his eye, he can see the boy moving closer to them. Fine. This will solve the problem much more quickly.

"It's not-"

A box slams onto the table, and Suzaku doesn't flinch, following the box up to the boy they were discussing. Milly startles across the table, a high pitched sound that Suzaku barely registers.

Up close, the boy's eyes are violet, and Suzaku catalogues it along with his height (just a pinch higher than Suzaku's own), his skin tone (deathly pale), his muscle tone (almost nonexistent), and his hair color (black, as expected). He doesn't carry himself like a yakuza; he doesn't _look_ like a yakuza; he doesn't _feel_ like a yakuza. Suzaku stares at him.

"Please don't harass Ms. Ashford, honored guest." The boy says in a voice that is a pitch lower than Suzaku's own. "You will be asked to leave." His eyes are settled into a glare, while his face and posture seem relaxed and neutral. He would be a good yakuza, if he could back his words with lethal force. Short blades would work for him; reactionary weapons to bring his point across.

"Lelouch," Milly says, breaking Suzaku's thoughts.

Suzaku eyes Lelouch and stands. "Of course." He motions Lelouch to the seat next to Milly. "You are welcome to join our conversation; you are the topic, after all." Lelouch glances at Milly, but Suzaku is interested to see that he isn't hesitant at all. Milly nods, and Lelouch joins them at the table.

He isn't foolish enough to be pushed around in his own territory by a teenager with a-chessbox, now that Suzaku looks more closely at it. "Please see to it, _Ms. Ashford_," Suzaku says, "that no trouble is brought to the store. You are aware that as an establishment that serves alcohol and garners the crowd such as this one, that it is inappropriate to have a minor inside."

"Yes," Milly says, "You don't need to worry about it. Lelouch is not here to work, nor is he soliciting our services." She keeps glancing nervously at Suzaku, not at Lelouch, and Suzaku remembers once again why he likes Milly so much. Responsibility is her own once she claims it, no matter what others are involved; reliance is a crack in the mask of many men, but it is a crack that Milly does not have.

Suzaku curls his fingers more around the hilt of his sword. "Why is he here then?"

"To play chess," Lelouch says. "It's very difficult to get any proper games on the mess of the campus that they call a school." He opens the chess box, displaying glass forms briefly, and shuts the box once more.

Suzaku sighs. "The club will not hide you or take responsibility if the police come." Milly stiffens in her seat, and Suzaku lets his eyes meet hers briefly before looking at the boy again. "Understood?"

"Yes," Lelouch says.

Suzaku stands, pulling his blade up to his shoulder, and nods to them. "Until next time, I shall take my leave." When Milly nods in return, he steps lightly out of the booth and leaves the club behind him, smoke of the guests' cigarettes trailing behind him like souls of the dead.

"Milly," Lelouch says, at her back, "did I make a mistake?" It isn't really a question.

"Of course not," Milly says, adding, "Underage boys should leave before sunset." Her lips pull up half-heartedly.

"I always do," Lelouch says.

* * *

Suzaku rarely gets the chance to spar with Toudou these days; after the man was promoted to be one of his father's right hand men, his presence has become more and more rare in the dojo. With all things considered, the fact that Toudou's skills are still at this level despite his lack of regular practice makes Suzaku respect the man more.

His blade presses against Toudou's, the sound of steel screaming in the empty courtyard. Suzaku takes half a step back, grounding his weight as he lets his sword give. As expected, the blade is pushed towards him as Toudou completes the arc of his swing.

Toudou thrusts his sword at Suzaku's center, and Suzaku side-steps the motion, barely raising his sword in time to clash with Toudou's swipe to his ribs. He tenses his sword, increasing the resistance of the press, and meets Toudou's eyes.

Toudou removes his sword first, sheathing it, and smiles. "You've been practicing," he says, which is praise coming from the other man. "Your heart is very clear."

"Thank you," Suzaku says, following suit. His sword is a comfortable weight at his hip. "You haven't gotten rusty, though."

Toudou barks out a laugh. "It will take much more than the clan's workings to make me rusty enough for you to win." He pats Suzaku's shoulders. "You should not expect your enemies to get weaker, but instead try to improve yourself." Toudou smiles, "After all, you are young so you might hope to wait until our bones are disease-ridden and weak, but you will run into enemies who are younger and less susceptible to time than you are."

Suzaku laughs, because it is ridiculous to think that Suzaku would ever give up on improving.

"Toudou," a voice calls from the building.

Suzaku stiffens, recognizing the sound of his father's command. Toudou pats his shoulder once more before passing him. Suzaku stands there, quietly, and tries not to breathe too loudly when his father begins muttering to Toudou.

When the sound of the sliding door echoes through the courtyard, Suzaku retreats to his room and never looks back.

* * *

For yakuza, there is no such thing as an isolated attack. The taste of sake is the same as the bond of blood, and with the weight of the sword, honor is wrought. In cases where bloodshed is the root cause, a clan will pursue the perpetrator to extinction; yakuza wars have decimated families as they crash against each other, each fighting for honor and revenge.

The last yakuza war occurred when Suzaku was but a child. His clan was not involved, although both sides attempted to curry favor with his father. Suzaku remembers his father turning away men with bloody stomachs and stained bandages. Suzaku remembers the quiet that fell over the house when such a man would come; his mother would tuck his face under the blanket of her sick bed and murmur to him.

He is an adult now, in the eyes of his clan. His mother has passed, and it looks like a war is on the way. The difference now is that the Kururugi clan will not be able to refuse.

Suzaku rips his eyes away from Asahina's bloody corpse, hanging from the rafters. The culprit is long gone, leaving only the corpse. He pulls out his cellphone, taking pictures of the hanging man from several angles before cutting him down with a one-handed draw of his blade. He does his best to support the weight of the advisor as the body falls, but he staggers under the weight. Suzaku lies Asahina on the ground.

He looks at the man who would sneak him candies during full clan meetings when he was a child; he looks at the man who has long been a financial advisor to his father.

His fingernails have been torn off, palms stabbed through, Suzaku thinks. His arms are streaked with blood, his clothing torn and bloody. What killed him was the piercing of his jugular, done amateurishly. The skin around the neck seems to indicate that his killer knew that the jugular was present, but not the actual position of it. Suzaku swallows the bitter bile that has crept into his mouth. He turns Asahina over, to look at his back.

A wolf has been carved into his back. Like the pierced jugular, the work is sloppy at best, but the message that it sends is clear enough. When Suzaku moves the shreds of the shirt off of the corpse, he exposes the phoenix tattoo of the Kururugi clan wears. Its neck is torn, ripped apart by the wolf's tail, and Suzaku takes a picture.

This is war. There is no doubt of that. The question is, against whom? The murder might have been done by an amateur, but there was no shortage of those. Any clan could find a messy killer; the more efficient ones were actually easier to track. If they had the police base, perhaps, but this was not a world that those men would ever approve of.

He stares at the back of Asah-the corpse. He draws his sword, letting the tip skim the ground as he takes a neutral stance, and shifts his grip on his cell phone.

Suzaku punches a number out on instinct, and when Toudou picks up, he doesn't wait to be greeted. "Asahina is dead."

Half a pause, like the moment after a blow to the chest. Then, "Where are you?"

Suzaku tells him the best he can- the third alleyway off of the bakery, then a left turn into an abandoned cafe.

Another beat, and Suzaku can imagine his mentor's face.

"Why are you there, Suzaku?" Toudou asks, even as Suzaku hears the background become noisier.

"I was meeting Asahina today to discuss the state of our financial affairs." Suzaku says. The smell of blood washes over him abruptly, and he gags for a moment before straightening.

"Get out," Toudou says. "We'll arrange for one of the younger men to take your place. I assume you've gotten all the necessary images."

"Yes," Suzaku says, eyes closing. "Of course. I will leave immediately." He doesn't want to look at the corpse anymore. It's something he's always hated to do, since he was a child. Suzaku gets too attached, his father always says. Suzaku is weak because he spends too much time sympathizing.

Suzaku leaves the bakery, sheathing his sword. He prays that no one will attack him on his way back to the clan house, but he knows that if they do, he'll kill them.

He touches his chest, imagining the bright ink beneath his shirt. His bird is screaming for justice.

(When Suzaku turns his phone over to his father, watching the stern man flip through the images with Toudou, his fingers are shivering. He asks to be dismissed and spends the next four hours in the yard, pulling the air apart with his sword the way he wishes time could be pulled apart and manipulated. Every breath is another reminder that Asahina is dead; mourning is for after justice has been wrought, as it always is. Still, Suzaku feels like he is suffocating.

The other members look at him and at the closed meeting room, and know, _this is war._)

* * *

Suzaku has been called to his father alone a total of four times. The first time had been because of his mother's death; his father hunched in the center of that dark room, staring at him as if willing him to understand. Suzaku remembers crying, and a suffocating voice, beating his ears with words he didn't want to hear.

He is in that place now. That terrible place where his father tells him that death is normal, that he needs to move on because he as much a symbol of the Kururugi clan as Genbu is. He is in that place where Genbu will reign in his emotions and build a sheath to the blade of his fury. The sheath will be made of piano wire, stretched tight and tearing along his skin every time the fury rises.

_In order to lead,_ Toudou had told him once, _one must be calm. Fury makes a blade weak and its wielder foolish._ (Suzaku had looked away when he saw Toudou's face harden at the images of Asahina's corpse. There was something there, a pain that was not Suzaku's to touch or share.)

"Suzaku," Genbu says, a silent command that presses his shoulders to the ground. Suzaku falls to his knees, bowing.

_"Oyabun,"_ Suzaku murmurs. He removes his blade from its place at his hip, raising it in his hands towards Genbu. It is a gesture of honor as well as submissiveness; Genbu acknowledges it with a grunt that allows Suzaku to slip into a more neutral stance, his blade at his side. As he settles to a more comfortable position, he draws his hands to rest on his knees. His blade thrums beside him, security should Suzaku need it.

"I should think," Genbu says, his voice heavy with something similar to grief, but two shades harder. "That as the heir to the clan, you should be aware of the responsibility that you should hold."

Suzaku stiffens at the slight, electricity running through his spine. He tightens his fist in his pants, nails biting into the rough denim.

"You can not be a stupid child forever," Genbu says. "Now is the time to grow up." His mouth twists in a way that resembles barbed wire, and Suzaku knows what will come next. "I should never have let that mother of yours coddle you so much."

Suzaku inhales sharply. He tries not to think of his mother's sweet smiles and fingers, tucking his head into her chest as she rocked him to sleep. He blocks out her quiet whispers to Genbu over his head, her soft kisses to his cheek. The taste of the memories is bittersweet, like the most potent poisons. It lingers in his mouth, and when Suzaku swallows, the taste drips into his stomach, sour. He can feel it eating him away.

"Obvious," Genbu critiques, when the moment has passed. Suzaku bites the inside of his cheek. "You are not a child, Suzaku." He sighs, and suddenly Suzaku is aware of how old his father truly is. How slowly, he thinks, would Genbu react if a blade were drawn on him? Would he be able to react in time to a man trying to tear out his throat?

Toudou had said that fury weakened the blade, but it gave it a certain power as well.

"We are going to war," Genbu says, removing Suzaku from his malevolent thoughts. "Asahina was family, and we will not forgive his death." Images of Asahina's broken hands come, unbidden, to Suzaku's mind. A half-beat later, his mother's shattered body against the pavement. "Keep it quiet for now; I will announce it to the clan later."

Suzaku nods.

When Genbu departs, a thousand moments later, the door closes behind him with a whisper.

The sound is so similar to his mother's voice that Suzaku presses his palms to his eyes. His ears strain for the sound of the footsteps disappearing in the hall, and he grounds himself. His sword is a steady presence against his calf, an anchor is this bloody world.

He wants his mother; he wants Asahina- he wants to be out of this damn family, and all the things that come with that thought make him choke.

(When he takes his hands away from his eyes, they are wet.)

* * *

The next time Ohgi comes, it is to announce that the Kozuki clan is now lead by Naoto's younger sister-Kallen.

Suzaku remembers her as a brash woman, loud and cheerful. She was much like Naoto in that respect. The woman was never shy about her body, wearing clinging clothing that left her midriff or legs bare. He remembers how she nearly stabbed a clan member who had insulted Naoto in passing. Suzaku remembers, and wonders what kind of leader she will become. In the past, leadership seemed to slip through her fingers-she was charismatic, but unable to look into the future the way an _oyabun_ must.

When he closes his eyes, Suzaku thinks about Asahina, another casualty in this tide. Glassy, dead eyes creep into his thoughts, and Suzaku blinks them away. There is no time yet to mourn for the dead. A change in leadership of the clan that killed Asahina is vital in the next step; Kallen's next move will determine if their clans will begin a feud. He wonders what Asahina would do in this situation, to tip the scales in their favor.

He wonders if Kallen is torn apart by her brother's death. They were close; it was a fact of blood that they shared. Kallen had followed her brother into the yakuza after their mother had over-dosed on drugs- it was always suspected that Kallen herself may have been using, but nothing had ever been asked after. Naoto had treated her kindly, never raising his hand to her, but there had been something fragile about that connection.

Suzaku asks Ohgi, after the meeting, "Is Urabe still with you guys?"

"Yes," Ohgi says, surprised, "and he's already exchanged cups with Kallen."

Suzaku doesn't ignore the feeling in his stomach, the drop of pressure that is growing in his chest. Urabe has attacked them. If Kallen has accepted him as family, then there is no doubt that the Kururugi clan will have to declare war. If they are lucky, then Kallen will do enough research on her men to discover his treachery and offer penance to his clan. If they are not, then this will be war, and there will be nothing that will stop the flow of blood until Urabe is dead.

The rule is forty-eight hours. The Kozuki clan has forty-eight hours to attempt to salvage the mess that they've created.

Suzaku says, softly, "Put your people in check, Ohgi. Time is running out for all of us, and it would be best if our clans are on the same side when the inevitable comes."

* * *

Among the yakuza, there is a market that belongs solely to their society. It is the market of names, of people's reputation. Names are currency: those who are strong and honorable; those who are weak and deceitful; those who are ready to wage a war. In Genbu's generation, there were five names that were burnt into every yakuza's mind.

Nagisa Chiba. Shogo Asahina. Ryoga Senba. Kosetsu Urabe. Kyoshiro Toudou.

The names were imbued with meaning, all different and all the same: power and loyalty. The names meant family that would defend you to the death or spill the blood of your executioner in your honor. Alcohol was where the bonds began, but blood was where they were proven.

Now, in Suzaku's generation, Nagisa and Toudou are with the Kururugi clan. Urabe ties himself to the fractured Kozuki clan. Senba has long passed due to illness, and Asahina had bled out on the floor of the cafe where he had liked the caramel lattes, claiming an addiction for the sole purpose of using clan funds. Suzaku had laughed, once, but now laughter seems like chewing glass; his mouth aches and bleeds.

When the cafe had opened, that next day, Suzaku had entered the building after the sun began to dip below the clouds, blood red splashing against the sky. He had ordered a caramel latte, and very carefully looked at the rafter where Asahina had been hanging, the floor that he had fallen to when Suzaku cut him loose. He had smiled at the cashier and told her to keep the change, and then dumped the latte in the trash outside the store and vomited.

(He goes back, to get another latte. The cashier is different, and when he swallows the hot drink, he can't taste the caramel or the milk, just bitterness.)

* * *

The sound of metal clashing is cathartic; there is something smooth, beautiful about watching light shine off of crafted metal, the glisten just gentle enough to take off a man's head. Suzaku parries Toudou's strike, pulling his blade close to his body and tucking into a roll as the older man's blade skims over him.

He tries a swipe at Toudou's hamstrings, unsurprised when his blade hits the heavy weight of Toudou's strike. He catches the next blow close to the hilt of his blade, and he falls with it, hoping to push the other man off balance.

Toudou stumbles, and Suzaku curves his blade to the side, pushing Toudou's blade away from him and thrusting his sword's hilt into Toudou's chest.

Toudou shudders away from him, raising his sword in a half-block, and presses his fingers against his chest lightly. "You've gotten better," he praises, but Suzaku sees the trembling in his hands. Suzaku has never seen Toudou's hands shake before.

"Toudou," Suzaku breathes, and manages to pull his sword up just in time to meet Toudou's swing. "Toudou, what's wrong?"

Toudou echoes his breathing, eyes darting to the side, and Suzaku feels the feint before he sees it. The scabbard catches Suzaku's side, and he curls over it, flipping to the other side of Toudou to prevent being gutted. He lands in a crouch, his sword held in front of him, and stares.

Toudou's blade is trembling.

"Toudou," Suzaku says, louder. "Stand down." He hates commanding; it is too much like stripping people away to nothing, disregarding their dreams and feelings. It is too much like stealing their free will away. He rises, pulling his sword with him, and walks towards Toudou, slowly.

He is prepared when Toudou swings his blade wildly; his eyes catch the tiny crack in the other's blade and his sword finds it, cleaving the weakened metal into pieces. And for a moment, the sound of screaming fills Suzaku's ears, the death of a good blade. The shards will be gathered and reforged, into a new blade to begin a new legacy.

"Toudou," Suzaku says.

Toudou drops to his knees, tucking his head to his chest. He raises the remains of his katana to Suzaku-the hilt and a quarter of the blade. Suzaku sees it, and he understands.

(That night, they will trade sake cups.)

* * *

Two days later, Genbu Kururugi calls the entire clan together in the courtyard. He says exactly three words to them, affirming the rumors that have been spread in the estate, and then leaves Suzaku to explain the rest. Suzaku shudders away images of Asahina's blood, because blood is what links them together as a clan; the loss of it is the loss of life. In the end, it is his father's words that ring through his mind as he is confronted with angry clan members.

_This is war._

(Later that night, Suzaku will watch the men of his clan drink alcohol like dying men, baptizing the tables with liquor. He will leave them, retreating to his own room, and nod at a pale man in a white suit. He will call the man Lloyd, the maniacal man who is known for two things: his ability to find quality blades and his creations of ink on skin.

Suzaku will expose his back to Lloyd, let him rebirth Asahina's bird on his own skin. He will close his eyes at the first swipe of Lloyd's fingers. The phoenix's tail will intertwine with his first tattoo, like brothers meeting, and red-orange wings will spread across his shoulder blades. The tattoo will be lighter than his first, which is dark gold and red pressed together. The tattoo will be primarily gold, shimmering light as red and orange invade it.

The phoenix will be born again in a flash of fire, ready to burn away the impurities of their world.)

* * *

They meet in the Ashford, just after the sun has set. The back room has been reserved, convenient enough for them to meet while the low music and tinny laughter hides the violent torrent to come. Suzaku breathes lead into his lungs as he follows his father into the club. The door swings open silently, and Milly bows her head as they pass. Suzaku nods to her.

He never knows what makes him look right, away from Milly and his father, away from the room where their war will truly begin. He never knows, because when he looks right, he sees a head of black hair, tucked into a booth, a pair of dress shoes. Suzaku thinks that it might be nothing, an ordinary drunk trying to fight his own corporate war; he sees the chess set and turns hard eyes on Milly.

Milly flinches, and Suzaku walks on. His fist clenches at his side, at the hollow space where his sword usually hangs.

Shirley meets them at the beaded curtain that separates the club from the back. Her face is pale, and Suzaku wonders if she even understands what is going on tonight. She smiles, a worker despite the uncertainty that lingers in her eyes like a scar. "The rest of your party has already arrived," Shirley murmurs, opening the curtain and allowing them through. She walks them down the plain hall, her bright red pumps clicking against the cool tile. When she turns to let them in, Suzaku's eyes are drawn to the silver color on the inside of the shoes' heels. (It's nothing, a silver accent to bring the shoe apart, but Suzaku can't help but reconsider; how quickly could the point of that heel break through a temple?)

Hidden meanings, Suzaku thinks, and walks into the room after his father.

His eyes have to adjust against for the lower lights in the room, and Master Kirihara appears in the center of the table, facing the door. On the left end of the table, a young woman sits beside Ohgi. Her hair is pushed up by a headband, haphazardly spilling in sharp spikes across her neck and forehead. She is dressed in a dark red dress that is startling in its luster; too much like spilled blood, Suzaku thinks, and then realizes how appropriate it is. She looks past Suzaku like a shade, focusing bright blue eyes on Genbu.

Suzaku's eyes slide to the man beside her. Ohgi is in a suit, something that doesn't fit him quite right; Suzaku can't place if it's the suit or the weight loss evidenced by the hollows in Ohgi's cheeks. The older man eyes are dull, his shoulders low- he has never seen the man this worn.

Suzaku blinks away memories of the brightly smiling man who accompanied Naoto the first time they met. Naoto, the young heir of the Kozuki clan who had inherited haphazardly when the upper ranks of the Kozuki clan were lost in the same car bomb that took Suzaku's mother. The Naoto then looked like Kallen now, Suzaku thinks, and he recognizes the headband on her as his; the one that he had worn, meeting after meeting, until Genbu looked at him with something like respect.

Here is the difference: even in the most tense of situations, when he and Naoto were picking up the shattered remains of the Kozuki clan, Ohgi had never looked like this.

"Master Kirihara," Genbu says, bowing lightly, and Suzaku follows suit with a murmur of his own.

Master Kirihara acknowledges them with a wave of his hand. "Be seated. We should do this quickly, before we bother the business."

Genbu walks to the other end of the table, never exposing his back to anyone but Suzaku, and sits. A half-beat later, Suzaku follows, legs folding beneath him. He meets gazes with Kallen, who breaks off the eye contact to stare at Master Kirihara. Ohgi, directly across from Suzaku, nods to him in acknowledgement.

"The pictures," Master Kirihara commands. Suzaku slides the thin envelope out of his breast pocket, pressing the envelope into his father's hand when it opens, palm up. Without looking at him, Genbu passes the envelope to Master Kirihara. The older man slits the seal with a sharp fingernail, reaching into the envelope to draw out its contents, like coaxing a frightened deer from its hiding place.

Kallen, across the table, scoots forward, trying to get a glimpse of the images. Suzaku suppresses a wince at her lack of decorum.

There is nothing about Genbu that physically changes, but the air around him freezes; Suzaku has seen clan members quake before the aura his father is emitting now.

Ohgi, across the table, starts. His eyes widen, and Master Kirihara looks towards Kallen sharply. Kallen continues leaning forward, and Suzaku swallows the urge to shove her down. _Danger,_ Suzaku's senses, honed from years of yakuza dealings, are running sharpened nails across his skin. _Danger._

Master Kirihara sighs, placing the four slips of paper onto the table. He looks vexed, which a part of Suzaku is pleased with; etiquette is half of yakuza dealings, and Kallen has shown herself to be lacking. The judgement will be more lenient towards the desire of the Kururugi clan if the Kozuki leader is unable to conduct herself properly.

He turns his eyes towards the images. He knows what they will be; he took them off his phone and printed them, glossy paper reflecting a crumpled corpse. The first image is of Asahina, hanging from the rafters; his face is clearly shown. Second is the hands. Third is the neck.

The final picture is what they will wage war over, and he knows when Master Kirihara sees it. The man's jaw tightens at the clear image of a wolf sliced into Asahina's back. Two breaths later, Master Kirihara gathers the photographs and slides them to the Kozuki side of the table.

Kallen looks at the first three photographs for too long. The fourth one makes her face harden, a vein in her neck throbbing. Her mouth curls into a sneer of disgust, and Suzaku has to give her respect for that. What she is disgusted by, Suzaku couldn't say, but the surprise in her eyes is genuine. Beside her, Ohgi looks drained of blood.

When she places the last photograph on the table, Master Kirihara says, "I recognize the legitimate grievance of the Kururugi clan." Ohgi's head drops as Kallen's snaps up.

"Wait a minute-" Kallen starts, her hand fisting on the table, "how could you say that this is the work of the Kozuki clan? It could be some punk on the street messing with a hurting clan." She breathes out loudly. "Let us do some research; we'll pull out the ones who did this, and take your vengeance."

Genbu meets her eyes evenly. "We reported this grievance to you forty-eight hours ago. You had that time to clear your name." His voice is smooth, infecting them with words that will never disappear. "It is the Kururugi clan's right to justice."

"People will _die,"_ Kallen says. "Are you willing to cut apart your clan for this?"

Master Kirihara clicks his tongue, and Suzaku stiffens.

It is Genbu, however, who speaks next. "People have already died." There is an undercurrent of rage, of ferocity, that means that he will never ally with the Kozuki clan as long as Kallen heads it. Suzaku is surprised that the feeling echoes in his own chest. "Justice must be taken, at whatever cost."

Ohgi interrupts Kallen's retort. "Please forgive her outburst." He bows his head. "The Kozuki clan will bow to Master Kirihara's judgement on this matter." Kallen glares at Ohgi, betrayal bare across her features, and Suzaku wonders if she knows how much she owes the other man.

"I recognize this as a legitimate grievance," Master Kirihara says slowly, each word tipped with venom and tried patience. "Therefore, I recognize the Kururugi clan's right to war against the Kozuki clan." He meets eyes with each person in the room.

Ohgi gasps, shuddering, and he nods. "Of course, Master Kirihara."

Kallen grimaces, rage twisting her features. She has enough grace to keep from screaming the words that Suzaku can see bubbling in her mouth. She nods to them, and when Master Kirihara dismisses her, she leaves without a second glance. Her footsteps are loud against the floor as she departs with Ohgi. Her shoes are spiked heels, bright silver against the dark floor.

Master Kirihara barks out a laugh, a bitter sound that Suzaku has never heard from the man. It is a time of the unexpected, he thinks, rubbing his temple. He has been caught by surprise too many times recently; it speaks poorly of his understanding of others.

"You should be sure about this," Master Kirihara says, making eye contact with Genbu. "There is no small amount of blood that will be lost here." In turn, he slides his gaze to Suzaku, who fights against his urge to flinch. There is a sharpness to Master Kirihara's eyes that feels very much like a hidden hook in the skin, waiting to be torn out in a spray of blood and flesh.

"I am sure," Genbu says, not defensive. His posture calms, the tension that wrought him rigid gone with Kallen's departure.

"Asahina was a good man," Master Kirihara says. "But not all good men will live." He hums, thoughtfully, an ordinary old man waiting for tea in the back room of a store. A moment later, he meets eyes with Suzaku. "Justice should be served, nevertheless."

_Watch out_, his face says.

"I understand," Suzaku replies.

* * *

A hand reaches for his throat a second before Suzaku slices it off at the place where it meets the arm; he stabs the man in the throat, precise, and when he lifts his blade from the flesh he is hit with a spray of blood. He back-pedals when he hears a sword being drawn, pulling his own blade out reflexively to meet the swing of an aggressor. He sees the glint of a gun, a beacon in the dark, and he rolls forward.

The bullet hits the man he had parried, and the man's shirts blooms red; this is a coward's strike. Suzaku kicks the man in the chest, avoiding the gunshot wound. He may survive if he doesn't move around to break the clotting blood, the body's only way to scrabble for life.

Suzaku lets his hand slip on his sword, twists his wrist to bring the blade up the inner thigh of a blond man who charges at him. It nicks, light, a lover's kiss to the thigh. The blond man pulls back, briefly, and Suzaku steps forward, over the groaning man. He pulls the blade up to chest level, wrapping his left hand around the hilt as well, a sliver away from where his right sits. He breathes out.

There is something sickening about the way his chest lightens when the other man runs towards him. This is what he thinks: legs tangled together in blankets; laughing into a warm neck before pressing kisses to hot skin; running his fingers through dark hair; slick skin against skin.

Suzaku breathes in, pulling his dreams out of the blood-filled air, and runs forward. The blond man dodges his blade but is too late to avoid Suzaku's kick to his throat. He chokes, hitting the ground, and Suzaku stabs, once.

If it were anyone else, it would be blind.

But this is Suzaku, and so the blade cuts through an artery in the leg, destined to drag the man into the darkness. Suzaku lets his eye wander over the surrounding area. There are two things Suzaku knows about fighting in groups: weak men die first, and weaker men hide like cowards in the dark. There is a gunman here, hiding among the swordsmen, and Suzaku will find him.

When he sees Urabe, the man's face crumples; anger and grief, twisted and pressed into his skin. The man looks away, body moving his head in some half-remembered instinct. Suzaku lets him walk, but he listens to a man breathing behind him, panicked.

When he severs the neck of the shooter, Urabe is gone.

(When Suzaku looks around him, the shot man has died, his heartbeat dissipating into the night because his heart, desperate to keep him alive, pumped blood out of the body like some misguided hero.)

* * *

"Take care of Urabe," Suzaku tells Kallen, when she arrives. He ignores the feeling of wrongness- she has had her chance, and he should not be offering her another. He wants this to end, before more blood is spilled.

Behind her, Ohgi is having men pick up the dead. More than one pales at the sight of the blood, and when Suzaku sees a hand twitch towards a blade, he places his hand on his own. Suzaku watches the progression out of the corner of his eye; official this may be, but that means nothing if the whole clan is willing to revolt. "It is more than clear at this point that he is the guilty party."

"Suzaku," Kallen says, "why don't you do it yourself?" She waves her hand at the four corpses, lined up in the street. "Urabe's branch is out of control, that much is true. But there's no need for you to continue killing our innocent junior members, who are only following Urabe's orders. It's cruel."

"I was attacked," Suzaku states. There is something familiar about the snarl that is building up in his throat.

"But you are skilled enough to have let these four live, if you wanted." Kallen replies. "You could take down Urabe, if you wanted." She laughs, a sound that makes Suzaku think of bitter coffee. "It would be so easy for you."

"Take care of it, Kallen," Suzaku orders. "Urabe is the Kozuki clan's problem first- you exchanged sake, which means you adopted him into your family." He adjusts his jacket, making eye contact with Ohgi and nodding. "You have to take responsibility for your brother."

"That _shit_ is not my brother," Kallen bites out.

Suzaku meets her eyes.

"Naoto is my only brother," Kallen continues, glaring.

Suzaku flicks his eyes to the men who have dropped the pretense of working to stare at their clan leader. "Apparently you are the only one who thinks so." His voice hardens in a subconscious reprimand. "You exchanged sake," Suzaku says a half tick louder than a whisper, a shout in the sudden silence, "and that means you are family. Blood is not shared between a clan, but honor and respect are more than enough."

Kallen pales.

"So take care of Urabe," Suzaku says, "your brother, because if you don't then someone else will. And if it comes to that, then your entire family will suffer." He turns to leave, nodding to the men who have returned to their cleaning. The tension runs like coils along their backs, and Suzaku wonders how someone who got it so wrong could be related to Naoto, who was so sensitive to how his men felt.

"I'm not enough," Kallen says.

Suzaku looks at her, at the puddle of responsibility that drips from her blood red hair.

"I'm not enough to stop him," Kallen grits out, baring her teeth.

Suzaku laughs, a sharp sound that reminds him too much of unsheathing a blade. "You'll never be enough if that's the way you're thinking." He says it, echoing his father. The next sentence is all his own. "Cowards are the ones who seek others to do their duties for them."

Kallen inhales sharply. "What do you think I've been trying to do? What do you think I've been doing?" Her voice quakes, tiny tremors that makes Suzaku think of torrents of rain, overwhelming and undesired.

"You're escaping," Suzaku says, and as the words come out he knows them to be true, made real by giving them tangible form. "You're scared of what your brother left you, because you don't think you're good enough to match him."

"Kururugi," Kallen says, her voice hard. "Be silent."

Suzaku nods. "That's the voice you have to use, Kallen. That's the mindset you have to take for your family while they're defiant; you need to keep your men in line."

"You're naive," Kallen says in return, as she leaves. "And you don't seem to realize that the justice you're asking for? That isn't justice at all." She pauses, a fragile smile creeping up the side of her lips. "It's _vengeance."_

* * *

Suzaku stops by the Ashford on his way home; he waves off Milly's attempts at a stammered apology and a drink. He sits in his regular seat, and just breathes.

The heady smell of perfumed candles bursts into the smell of alcohol and leather seats, a woman's voice crooning love songs in the peripheries. The sound of voices dull to a murmur, and Suzaku blinks into reality when he sees Lelouch enter the club, his chess set tucked under his arm like an all-access pass.

The moment Lelouch sees him is the moment that his path changes, and Suzaku can admire that in a man; there is nothing there that avoids conflict. He wishes he were the same way.

"I'm here after dark," Lelouch says, defiant when he meets Suzaku's eyes.

"I see that," Suzaku says, suddenly tired. He sighs, soft, and then smiles in a way that makes his face more approachable. "Despite telling you not to." He twirls a straw with one hand.

Lelouch looks at him oddly. "Well, it's not like the yakuza will attack me, Suzaku. And I'm hardly a woman." He opens the chess set. "Do you play?" He draws a king, black, and traces the crown with long fingers. He places it on the board, meeting Suzaku's eyes.

(Suzaku thinks that Lelouch is his age, give or take a year; what would it be like, he thinks, if we were friends, if he were that naive; if he learned to play chess only to have Lelouch trounce him each time, slinging an arm over his shoulder; if Suzaku could smile at Lelouch and have him smile back; if Suzaku could kiss those long fingers and have it become awkward, because they have to talk to each other after this; if Suzaku could have Lelouch.)

But that is a fantasy, and this is reality. That is something that never was and will never be. So instead he moves a gentle hand and knocks over the king. "Go, Lelouch." Suzaku says, reprimanding without bite. "I won't punish Milly."

The tension slips out of Lelouch, like it was a wire cage holding him tense. Suzaku wishes it didn't hurt (didn't hurt that Milly, beautiful Milly, has Lelouch as her defender_love_confidante_friend_).

When Lelouch turns to go, Suzaku rubs his knuckle where it had touched the black king.

"Oh, Suzaku," Milly says in his peripheries, her voice soft.

Suzaku stands abruptly, pulling his sword close to his side. He fumbles with his jacket-never with his sword- and says, "Tell me if you start having problems. We aren't on good terms with the Kozuki clan any longer; don't risk you or any of your girls." _Your friends,_ his mind whispers, and Suzaku leaves it unsaid.

(That night Suzaku slips a knuckle into his mouth and spills his release into his hand, imagining long, pale fingers around the curve of the king. When he wipes the cooling semen off of his stomach, he feels as though he's hollow, a puppet.)

* * *

Suzaku steps back from a swipe and kicks the Kozuki member in the chest, pushing the man to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the arch of Toudou's sword, chased by a spray of blood like the tail of a dragon.

The hall is narrow enough that Suzaku eyes it, considering. Too large of a swing and a sword would easily be embedded in the dry wall. He ducks forward, pushing his blade into the nearest man's neck; he follows the momentum to duck below another attacker, kicking out sharply to crack a kneecap.

The man crumples. When Suzaku raises his blade to finish him off, he whimpers, "Why are you attacking us instead of Urabe?" Suzaku opens his mouth to reply as Toudou slides his sword through the man's jugular, and the taste of metal fills his mouth.

Suzaku spits.

Toudou nods to him, a check, and Suzaku nods back after a moment. He lets his eyes wander across the hall, littered with bodies, and another clan member touches his elbow to let him know they've finished clearing out the lower levels. This is a satellite branch of the Kozuki's, small, but it is the closest to Kururugi territory. Suzaku wipes his blade before sliding it into its sheath, settling on his waist.

"Suzaku," Toudou says, his own blade already resting in its sheath, "I heard you notified the Kozuki clan over a small skirmish?" He nods to one of the members beginning clean-up. The member leaves a white sheet near them, disappearing into one of the more heavily occupied rooms.

"Yes," Suzaku replies; the taste of blood lingers in his mouth, blending with his saliva and staining his tongue. "It seemed pertinent, since I was alone at the time."

Toudou glances at his, and his gaze slips away to the dead men in the hall and rooms beyond. "Let's line them up," he says, bending to catch a man underneath his arms. Suzaku grab the corpse below the knees, and together they place the man on the sheet, arranging him carefully. "It's not wrong," Toudou says. "To have told them. It was honorable of you." There is nothing in his voice that changes, but a sharp anger that pervades the words nevertheless.

Suzaku wants to choke. He grabs another body instead, wondering. These are all men. What does it matter that they die with their killers identified? There is no honor in death; only in living is one's honor attended to.

Later that night, the clan members bathe in sake and laughter. A small battle, but honor is awarded to those who fought; men who saw Toudou fight for the first time surround him as he tells stories of the past. Suzaku remains on the porch, his eyes watching- he will protect, if there is something out there, trying to slip in amongst the festivities.

A familiar gait sounds from down the hall to stop beside him, and Suzaku remains looking forward.

"Suzaku," Genbu says, and it is a reprimand. "You should not have contacted the Kozuki clan." He turns his eyes to the victorious party, bloodstained and swallowing sake like ghouls.

Suzaku says nothing.

("How many did we lose?" Suzaku asks, later.

"Six," Toudou will answer, and the birds on Suzaku's back will burn.)

* * *

There is a girl in his room the next night, one of his clan member's attempts to help him with the stresses to come. Suzaku has done this before; Suzaku hates it every time. (He's hollow, he's hollow. How can he give something to someone else?)

The girl is small and pale, her dark hair pleated unfashionably to the sides. She's young, her body not filled out with the curves that will come with adulthood. Suzaku traces the line of her back with his eyes, and it comes to his mind, unbidden: _Lelouch._

When he looks at her again, he realizes she is trembling. He places a hand on her shoulder, and she jerks away.

Suzaku leans in close to her, hears her half-strangled sob and his ribs tighten, suffocating. "I am not a rapist," Suzaku says, a half-breath. He backs up, and smiles as softly as he can at her.

Her face is an echo of Urabe's from that night, and Suzaku traces the harsh lines in her skin.

She flinches.

"What do you want?" Suzaku says. He knows, already; he knows that this girl will never wake up with him, press kisses into his skin like she adores him.

"I-" She says, her frame tight with fear. "I need money."

"Okay," Suzaku agrees. "How much?"

Her eyes meet his, angry. "I will not take your blood money," she hisses, shoulders pulling inwards as if to make herself smaller. It's a bizarre collision of threat and victim that Suzaku has never seen before, and he ignores her words.

"Is that why you're here?" Suzaku asks. He already knows.

"Th-they said," the girl stammers, "they would pay me t-to sleep with you." She breathes harder. "They didn't say anything about sex!" Her voice screeches.

It's an innocence that Suzaku is not used to seeing, and he tries to stop his next words. "That was naive."

She slaps him, forcing her way out of the room like a gust of wind, and half-runs down the hall. Suzaku sees Nagisa take her arm; she will leave safely. He presses his hand to the hot skin of his cheek.

A nearby clan member whistles. "Nice."

Suzaku rolls his eyes. "No women, okay? It's not the time."

"Sure," the man agrees easily, eye tracing Suzaku's cheek. He salutes cheekily when Suzaku closes the door to his room behind him.

(This is a secret, even to Suzaku: what Suzaku wants is a friend, but he will never have one because of his family. He will have familyenemiesclientslovers. But never friends.)

* * *

"_Oyabun_ Kallen sends her greetings. She thanks you for your visit to the Nagoya branch earlier this week."

On the anniversary of his mother's death, Suzaku's father is gunned down along with his two bodyguards. His body is delivered to the clan house in one piece, a simple blossom of red staining his shirt.

If Suzaku looks, he knows that the phoenix on his father's chest will be dead.

The clan is silent, as Suzaku brushes his fingers against Genbu's eyes, closing them to the world he had loved more than his wife, and smiles harshly at the messengers, fury crackling beneath his skin like live wires. Blood is blood, he thinks to himself as they look at him in ignorant defiance.

"We are allowed to leave," the first says, a boy who is barely older than Suzaku himself.

The second swallows nervously, tugging on the other's sleeve.

"You are allowed to leave," Suzaku agrees, voice paralyzing men who would argue otherwise. Suzaku lets his eyes trail to the second messenger. "Your friend, on the other hand…"

"They said we'd have immunity!" The second messenger gasps.

"Mm," Suzaku says, "messengers have immunity. But there was only one messenger here today." He lets his eyes flick over to the first boy, whose back is straight and eyes wide, like he's never been in this position before. He's a baby to Suzaku's adult, and softness of his hands means he's never practiced with a blade. "You were the one who brought Genbu's body back," Suzaku says, detached. "You were the one who told us that the ones claiming his death was the Kozuki clan. That makes you a messenger." He nodded towards the second boy, his hand slipping to the hilt of his katana.

He hears a choked laughter beginning behind him, grief twisting knives into the men he grew up with.

"You, on the other hand," Suzaku says to the second boy, "are just an member of the Kozuki clan on hostile turf. There's no need to spare _you."_

"You can't do this-"

"No," Suzaku says, "I _can."_

He can feel the men behind him, spider-silk reconnecting them, covering the gaping holes that have been cut out by Genbu's death. He knows that violence is not the key here, no matter how cathartic it might feel.

"Tell Kallen this," Suzaku says, finally, "Suzaku Kururugi is now the head of the Kururugi clan, and we'll make sure to repay this favor."

It echoes through the courtyard, and Genbu never hears it, never hears the moment that his son decided to grow up.

* * *

Suzaku is sitting at his father's desk, going through paperwork and the finances that he had never had a chance to ask Asahina to explain to him; his left hand is tight around the sheath of his sword.

A knock at the door sounds like a death knell, and Suzaku closes his eyes. There have been casualties to this war, good men dead. He hates this part most of all, the part where he has to write to their wives and children, where he has to explain why their husband/father/brother died like a pig in the street, thrown into the trash to be discovered once he began to rot.

The paper will say something like, _He died honorably._ It will give them enough money from clan funds to tide them over for a year, if they spend it wisely. It will not say how he died, or where he died. It will not say _I'm sorry_, nor will it say _we will take vengeance._

(Suzaku wonders what his mother's letter would have looked like, if it hadn't been Genbu who had to write the letters. He doesn't wonder what his father's letter would have looked like, because he has to write it himself.)

The knock sounds again, and Suzaku calls out permission to enter.

Nagisa comes in, a black case in her hand. She places the case on a clear portion of Suzaku's table. _"Oyabun,"_ Nagisa says, half-affectionate before her face goes stern. She doesn't comment on Suzaku's flinch. "You don't need to take this." She rotates the case, flicking open the latches like timers on a bomb. "But if you want it, you can have it."

When Suzaku looks into the case, he smiles, motioning for her to shut it. "Nagisa," he says gently, "I have never needed more than my sword." He adjusts his grip on his blade, tucking it closer to his side.

Nagisa closes the lid on the gun, and bows.

(The men speak loudly in the courtyard that night; bandaged, they speak of blood and glory of the Kururugi clan. Suzaku closes his eyes and thinks of the three men he has to write letters for today; a minor skirmish near the borders.)

* * *

Toudou slides a piece of paper across the table, his head bowed. "We found him."

Suzaku looks at it, an address pressed so deeply into the paper that it bleeds through. The ink stains his fingers, and he looks at it, rubbing it between his fingers as he tries to breathe. This is it, Suzaku thinks, this is all it takes to finish this off.

Suzaku smiles, his teeth clenched. He nods, and Toudou bows.

* * *

They slip into the compound like shadows, swords licking the bodies of the men they meet. Blood sinks into the flooring, a slow saturation that the wood of the house accepts greedily.

Toudou posts two men in every hall they pass to maintain a net, and they accept their posts, turning their eyes upon the door. Suzaku kicks the next door in, his sword held in front of him. Stairs.

The stairs feed into a hallway, split evenly. He steps to the right, pulling his sword up, and lets Toudou begin working down the left side of the hall before he begins. Urabe has to be here. He hears Toudou kick down a door and pushes himself to focus on his own task.

Inattentiveness is more crippling than lack of skill.

He hears heavy breathing through a door, and Suzaku pierces it with sword without thinking. When he pulls it out, it is heavy with blood, and Suzaku kicks the door in, pinning the wounded man to the ground.

When he looks down, it is Urabe. He steps on the door, to wind the man, and when he hears someone inhale, he looks up to meet the frightened eyes of Lelouch.

"You're-" Lelouch says, his eyes taking in the Suzaku's filthy clothes.

Suzaku exhales, and says, "Close your eyes, Lelouch." He pulls the blade off of Urabe and pierces the man's shoulder with his sword, pinning him there like a dying butterfly. Suzaku picks Urabe's sword off of the ground. He glances over Urabe-Suzaku's first stab had caught him in the chest.

"I knew he was important," Urabe says, gripping the blade of Suzaku's sword. "We saw you with him, you know-and isn't it ironic that the baby son of the Kururugi clan would have a playmate?"

Suzaku steps on Urabe's free hand, letting the bones crack beneath his foot as Urabe shrieked.

"What are you-" Lelouch interrupts, "There's no honor in that!"

Suzaku turns to Lelouch, allowing Urabe to cradle his broken hand. "I won't tell you again, Lelouch. Close your eyes." He feels like vomiting. Honor-what does Lelouch know of honor?

"Isn't it funny, to hear of honor from the scum who don't understand it?" Urabe laughs, half-gurgling. "Your honorable father, do you know how he died?" Urabe chokes on the blood in his mouth. "He died kneeling over some woman's grave! It was pathetic. What leader kneels like that?" Suzaku's chest goes tight, even as Urabe sobs, each sound a cry for mercy. "Why was he grieving when he was the reason Naoto died? What right does he have?"

When Urabe's hand moves to grasp at him, Suzaku pierces the it, slicing through flesh and muscle.

Urabe howls, and when Lelouch splutters, Suzaku says, "Close your eyes, Lelouch."

"Why?" Urabe pants. "Why did the Kururugi clan kill Naoto?"

Suzaku pulls his sword out of Urabe shoulder with a jerk. "Two things," Suzaku says, commanding. "First, the Kururugi clan never wanted Naoto dead." Urabe chokes. He glances at Lelouch and the other male's eyes are closed. "Secondly-"

Suzaku decapitates Urabe with a single swing, the katana cutting through muscle and bone like a wing passing through the air.

There is silence, for a moment, and Suzaku hears nothing but the beating of his own heart.

* * *

"This war is not over," Suzaku says as one of his men lays Urabe's head at Kallen's feet; his men are lined up behind him, waiting but still covered in blood.

Kallen laughs, "Of course it is. Urabe is dead." She crosses her arms, not looking at the head on her doorstep.

Suzaku bares his teeth at her. "The war is not over." His men behind him murmur in approval.

Kallen's face tightens, fury building beneath the skin.

"What do you want then, Kururugi?" Ohgi says, from behind her. Suzaku regards him carefully; Ohgi is overpowering his oyabun in this, something not to be taken lightly.

Suzaku meets Kallen's eyes before looking at Ohgi. He knows what he wants- more than honor, this is what this war has been about: "Territory, protection, and the immediate dismissal of the current _oyabun_ from her position."

* * *

When they begin to enter their home, men passing Suzaku after following him in a procession from the Kozuki clan house, Suzaku touches each man's shoulder and says, "Thank you."

Toudou, after the men have retired to clean and celebrate, brings Lelouch to him. He closes the door behind the school boy.

"My name," Suzaku says, "is Kururugi Suzaku."

Lelouch nods. "I know. Milly told me, after the first time we met." He curls his fingers into a fist, pulling the bottom to his shirt to lay flat. He meets Suzaku's eyes before drifting to the blood hardening in his shirt.

"Why did Urabe come after you?" Suzaku asks.

There are tiny flecks of blood on Lelouch's skin. Lelouch picks at the ones on his hands. "Because I was asking around about you."

Suzaku breathes out. "Foolish," he says, "you should have known to get out when we first met." He places his sword on the side of his futon, pulling his jacket off and setting it in a corner. "And what were you trying to accomplish?"

Lelouch scrapes his hands with more force. "I wanted to know more." His nails are leaving streaks of red against his pale skin, blood pushing against the abuse.

Suzaku turns, stepping closer to Lelouch. He presses his fingers against Lelouch's wrist, stopping the movement. "Are you satisfied?" He whispers into Lelouch's ear, letting the sounds linger in the air like expelled smoke. "This is who I am."

"A _yakuza,"_ Lelouch says, body still.

"A yakuza," Suzaku agrees. "And everything that comes with it." He brushes Lelouch's hair behind his ears, letting his hands cradle the other male's face for a brief moment. "All the authority, and all the violence." He lets his arms drop so that the tips of his fingers skim Lelouch's sides. "And what would you do with that?"

Lelouch looks at him, dark eyes defiant as the day they had first met.

Suzaku grins bitterly, stepping away. "Of course." Lelouch won't be the one Suzaku will be able to hold, be able to press against in the darkness and dream with. It is a foolish hope that Suzaku needs to let go of- the one he will bed will be for status and nothing else. That person will stay in a separate room, will not let him touch them outside of the bed for fear of blood and violence. And his tiny dream of warm days and soft kisses will be washed away by a torrent of steel and duty. So now, Suzaku waits, staring at Lelouch, the last whim he will be allowed.

Lelouch looks at him, reaches forward. His fingers skim Suzaku's lips, and Suzaku allows the caress. "I could hurt you," Lelouch says, like a revelation, and Suzaku stiffens. "And you would let me." He steps closer, nearly flush with Suzaku. "I could wreck you." His fingers press harder into Suzaku's lips, and Suzaku parts his lips, skims Lelouch's fingers with his tongue before pulling away.

"Lelouch," Suzaku says tersely. "You can say no." He stares at the wall behind Lelouch's head; he needs Lelouch to say-

"Yes."

Suzaku grips Lelouch by the neck. "Swear." He presses their lips together, licking into Lelouch's mouth, chasing the taste and memorizing it. "Swear you're mine tonight."

Lelouch pants, against his mouth, "Tonight, I'll allow it." He pushes Suzaku back on to the futon on the ground, pulling at his shirt.

Suzaku pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor as he pulls Lelouch into his lap. He undoes the school blazer, tearing at the shirt below and pushes them to the ground. The sound of buttons scattering across the floor makes Lelouch bite Suzaku's shoulder.

Suzaku grasps at Lelouch's neck, pulling him upward for a fierce kiss, and grips his waist with his other hand as if he can hold them there, in that moment. The skin there is soft, unmarred, and Suzaku breaks away to push Lelouch onto the bed. He brings up Lelouch's hand, kissing it, and trails his tongue from wrist to elbow, mapping out unscarred skin. Suzaku bites Lelouch's throat, watches blood press up against the skin, and nibbles to selfishly leave his mark. Lelouch runs a hand against Suzaku's spine in encouragement, and Suzaku moves downwards.

Lelouch's skin is white, soft; unscarred and precious. Suzaku presses against it, intending to mark, over and over again, in kisses and bites. He pushes Lelouch's pants aside and strokes unblemished legs softly.

Lelouch pulls off his underwear and drops it to the floor. Suzaku grips a bare hip and leans forward.

"Last chance," Suzaku says. There are things that are better to have never had; there are moments that Suzaku will play on loop in his mind when duty suffocates him. He can't say which of the two this will become, but he knows this: this meeting will not disappear like the incense smoke rising above the graves of the men he must bury tomorrow.

Lelouch pulls him into another kiss in response, and Suzaku undoes his belt, letting it hit the floor a few moments before his pants and underwear follow.

"Your choice," Suzaku bites into Lelouch's lips, and pulls their hips together. He removes the lube from below his bed, filling his palm with the slick liquid; he takes them both in hand. He stops moving when Lelouch begins rocking his hips, fucking into his hand and against his cock. When Lelouch's hips stutter, Suzaku moves his hand to stroke them together, letting the other male's release smear against his skin.

Lelouch says, breathily, "How unhygienic." He grabs at Suzaku's member, still hard, and leisurely pulls at it, the wetness of the lube and his own cum enough of a lubricant.

After a moment, Suzaku says, "Close your legs." When Lelouch does so, he slips his cock between Lelouch's pale thighs, and thrusts between them. It's obscene; the red of his engorged member against the fragile paleness of Lelouch. Lelouch pulls him down for a kiss, and Suzaku pants against his mouth until he paints Lelouch's legs with his semen.

"Stay," Suzaku says, pushing Lelouch down and kissing him. They kiss until Suzaku feels like he can breathe again, until he realizes that this is transient and no way for him to be acting.

Still, he doesn't stop Lelouch from tucking against him, his softened cock against the curve of Lelouch's ass.

* * *

The day rises, and as sunlight creeps onto the bed the birds on Suzaku's back come to life. Suzaku slips from the futon, pulling his clothes up from the ground. He sheathes his body in dark cloth from the floor, stepping away from the futon. He pulls his blade up from the floor, the familiar weight of steel relaxing him.

Lelouch, still encased in the futon, murmurs when Suzaku moves away. He curls around the covers, peering upwards as the bed begins to cool. "Suzaku," Lelouch says, and Suzaku stops, fingers against the edge of the door. "When will I see you again?"

Suzaku turns, light curling around his form, cut out of the new day and new times. He looks at Lelouch, the last freedom he had before shackles of light were realized; a love he has always wanted. They won't meet again, his duties now shifted away from direct contact with the Ashford and other territory. He smiles, bitterly, and turns away. He slides the door open to see Nagisa and Toudou in the hall, heads bowed and swords at their waists.

"Suzaku?" Lelouch asks, farther now, an echo of the past.

Suzaku doesn't turn around, doesn't try to grasp onto something he knew was fleeting.

The Kururugi _oyabun_ answers, _"Never."_


End file.
